


Closer and Apart

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Consensual, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-14
Updated: 2003-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourth in the Away series. He shouldn't have taken to Bruce. Shouldn't have let him get that close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer and Apart

## Closer and Apart

by Lux

[]()

* * *

Fourth in the Away series, follows 'Close.' 

Feedback: If you read this story, you'll realize that I need comfort more than ever. 

Many thanks to my betas Moss and Jenna, who heroically put up with me and my fussiness. 

* * *

"All the reactions of build-up and breakdown within living cells are controlled by these specialized kinds of molecules called enzymes, which can start chemical reactions and control their rates because they are catalysts. I mean, they bring about chemical reactions by combining with specific molecules and holding them together long enough to react..." 

Bruce played with the grass in the yard as he listened to Lex. Well, he didn't listen, really. He was just enjoying the sound of his voice. 

Although Bruce was a year ahead, Lex was one of the best students, and he was known for having won prizes in chemistry and mathematics contests. Thus, Bruce's request to be tutored hadn't raised suspicions. But, strangely enough, Lex himself seemed to have taken it very seriously, as if he didn't even imagine it was just an excuse to stay with him under everybody's eyes. Bruce told himself that he probably loved the sound of his own voice, and loved the subject. 

" They are made up of huge molecules of protein, while molecules of the substances they act upon are much smaller..." 

It didn't matter. Bruce loved to hear him talk. Sometimes he thought he preferred it to his silences. His silences hurt. They were deafening. When Lex didn't speak, his pain escaped from his eyes, his hands, his features, his heartbeats. 

"An enzyme starts a reaction by binding to its surface the smaller molecules that enter into the reaction..." 

Lex wore the black sweater Bruce had given him at Christmas. It really suited him. He wasn't a freak, as Fabienne had called him. As the schoolmates called him. Bruce heard them, when he slid through dark hallways and along cornices at night. They smoked cigarettes and joints, drank beer, laughed, jerked off, gossiped like stupid girls during a pajama party, boasted about sexual relations with women who were completely unaware, backbit the teachers and the less popular boys. They called him Spooky. They said he was crazy. They said he had been committed to a mental institution. They were afraid of him. He had known before Lex told him. He didn't give a damn. They were nothing. Ghosts. Extras. Walk-ons. 

"For example, the enzyme amylase digests, or breaks down, starch to sugar, but it doesn't digest proteins..." 

They called Lex a freak, a nerd, a geek. They made horrible jokes about his bald head and hairless body. Some of them had planned on teaching him a lesson he would never forget, when he had stopped giving them drugs. They had wanted to strip him, beat him, then cover him with glue and hair taken from a dog-clipper. Bruce had made them change their mind. 

"Pepsin and trypsin break down proteins to amino acids, but they don't digest fats or starches. Enzymes select the substances to be transformed by their shape... 

Lex wasn't a freak. Bruce found him beautiful, an eerie creature, lithe, delicate, smooth and defenseless like a newborn. Lex roused his protectiveness. Bruce sensed he needed him, and this turned him on fiercely. He had thought his parents' death had drained him of any emotion. But Lex stirred something in him. Bruce didn't love him. That much he knew. He couldn't love anyone. Although he loved to stay with him. Look at him. Touch him. Watch over him. 

"The surface of the enzyme has exactly the opposite or mirror shape of the molecules that combine with it..." 

They had never kissed. Once, while they where lying on Lex's bed, Bruce had reached for his lips, but he had turned his head away. This was okay with him. After all, Bruce wasn't gay. Well... or so he believed. Before Lex, he had never been attracted to a boy... Truth be told, he had never been attracted to anyone, before Lex. But he knew other boys at the school did the same things they did and this surely didn't make them gay. Did it? 

"... thus the two fit together like a lock and key..." 

They hadn't gone much beyond petting. That was the limit he himself had set. Lex's behavior confused him. He had been edgy and virtually untouchable for the rest of their vacation, after the Christmas episode. At school, Bruce had avoided him. He just didn't want to hurt him, if that was the effect he had on him. The third day, Lex had slipped into his room and into his bed. Incredibly, with a provoking smile on his face, he had tried again to give him a blow job. He seemed more himself that night, but Bruce had stopped him. The Gotham episode was still too fresh in his mind. Truth was, he could have never forgotten those glassy eyes, that absent expression. He still felt guilty for not having restrained himself, when Lex had offered his body to him. He should have known better. He had seen his paleness. He had seen that ghastly grimace. He had simply chosen to ignore them, because his desire had gotten the upper hand over his control. He had told himself he would never allow it again. And so, that night at school, he had prevented Lex from using his mouth on him. But he hadn't been strong enough to stop his hand. Another mistake. Lex had performed the act efficiently and after a moment he was gone, without asking anything in return, barely waiting for him to recover. 

As soon as his breath had become regular again, Bruce had slid out of his room and climbed to Lex's window. He had heard the drops of water as they pelted the shower stall in the bathroom. It had lasted for a long time. 

Bruce had promised himself not to let Lex take control again. For his own good. And for Bruce's sanity, if there was anything left. Lex kept on alternating moments of coldness and indifference with phases of apparent arousal, especially when Bruce ignored him for a while. One day he would shy away from physical contact, the following day he would seek him out and take the initiative. It was maddening. 

Bruce had learnt to look, rather than to see, to listen rather than to hear. But years of studies and training in an oriental monastery were probably not necessary to realize that something was wrong. 

He had decided to start again from the beginning. Overcoming Lex's and his own resistance, he had managed to learn and teach what should have been the simpler thing: lying on a bed in an embrace. At first, Lex was rigid in his arms, tense like a violin's string, the look of a trapped animal in his pale blue eyes. Then he had started to relax. He seemed content to be held in Bruce's arms. 

Every day, they lingered like that a bit longer. After a while, the stroking had begun naturally. Bruce couldn't believe how much it excited him. The first time he had come in his pants, just from touching and being touched by Lex. 

When they had moved on to more intimate caresses, they were both more at ease. They hadn't gone further, although Bruce felt Lex would have done it, and probably more. Sometimes, he thought Lex could have done anything just to please him. This frightened him, and this wasn't the only disquieting thing. Though Lex hadn't had any further episodes of detachment, nor had he rushed off any more after bringing him to a climax, he sometimes appeared to be somewhere else, and always seemed to focus on Bruce's satisfaction alone. He hardly ever let Bruce return the favor. And, even then, he came quickly, or didn't come at all, as if his body were numb or as if he felt the urge to remove the thought as soon as possible. He didn't worry. He simply didn't seem interested. When he had realized that this made Bruce feel uncomfortable, he had reassured him, blaming his lack of desire on the anxiolytics he took to cure his sleep disorders. 

It could be. Or not. Once ore twice, probably because of the after-effects of his beloved pills, Lex had dozed off in Bruce's arms before managing to chase him out of his room. His was a light, troubled sleep, alert to the slightest sound and movement. Lex assumed a fetal position, forehead creased, hands clenched into balls against his chest. He gasped and murmured. Bruce hadn't been able to made out anything coherent, but the words "no" and "please," repeated again and again. He ached inside for him. 

At times, strange, appalling ideas crept into Bruce's mind, and he began to wonder if he was actually insane, because they were simply monstrous, and the mere thought made him feel like vomiting. And yet, he sensed Lex wasn't completely sincere. Bruce had assured him he could tell him anything. Lex wouldn't talk. Wouldn't admit there was something else, beyond what he had already confided to him. This drove him crazy. A part of him, selfishly, was relieved he couldn't turn his suspicions into certainty. Because he simply didn't know how he would react if he discovered the truth. And yet, he couldn't ignore it forever. Sometimes, he had the impression he couldn't ignore it a second longer. He wanted Lex to trust him. He wanted him to understand there shouldn't be secrets between them. 

"Very often, they are drawn together by tiny bits of opposite electric charge..." Lex said. 

"Some months ago I killed a man," Bruce confessed. 

* * *

"The surface of the enzyme has exactly the opposite or mirror shape of the molecules that combine with it, thus the two fit together like a lock and key..." 

Lex enjoyed giving lessons. Sometimes, he thought he would like to become a teacher. Of course, his father would have never accepted such a ridiculous idea. 

Mathematics and chemistry were his favorite subjects. Numbers, formulas... all so clear and perfect and immutable. They made him feel safe and comfortable. And he loved to see the expression of approval on his teachers' faces, he reveled in the praises and prizes he won at the contests. They made him feel normal and appreciated. Even his father congratulated him on his achievements. "Good boy," he had said, once. "Luthors must excel at all they do." That was the reason why the following time Lionel had broken, against Lex's face, the metallic DNA reproduction he had been awarded as third prize, leaving that scar on his upper lip. 

Lex knew Bruce wasn't really interested in what he was saying, but the words flowed from his mouth smoothly and naturally, and the thoughts followed one another in his mind carrying him away, the sensation he loved the most, the feeling he had sought after since his mother's death, since Pamela's departure, since his father... 

The Christmas episode had unsettled him. And frightened Bruce, he feared. It hadn't been like the absences he often experienced when he couldn't cope with reality anymore. When it was enough, he simply faded away, as he called it. He didn't remember when it had started. While his body suffered, most of the time he just managed to abstract himself, to move his mind to another place. A safer place. He had discovered that sedatives enhanced this ability, and alcohol furthered the effect. Of course, he often didn't have the time to prepare himself. His father was unpredictable. His mind alone was enough, in those cases. At least, it had been. 

He had always kept control of those experiences, in a sense. He could come back to his body in any moment. He never left it completely, truth be told. He was perfectly aware of what was happening. But it was as if he were looking at the scene from the outside. He was there and somewhere else at the same time. Like that Christmas morning in Gotham. Except for the fact he had had no responsibility nor control over it. It had simply seized him unfairly, unexpectedly. And his memories were confused, fragmented. Perhaps, someday he would have started to make his head turn, like the girl possessed by the devil in _The Exorcist_. 

He had been on pins and needles for the rest of the vacation. He was worried, and ashamed for having made an exhibition of himself. Bruce's concern and kindness only annoyed him further. He had treated him carefully, as if he were made of glass. In return, Lex hadn't spared him the snide remarks and sarcastic, cruel comments, at least until they had come back to school and he had been overcome by the sheer terror of having turned him away, of being alone again. 

"Very often, they are drawn together by tiny bits of opposite electric charge," he went on. 

"Some months ago I killed a man," Bruce informed him in a hollow voice. 

Lex held still, torn away from his chain of thoughts, stunned silent by the older boy's impromptu confession. The words "serial killer," "jars," and "freezer" rapidly crossed his mind. So, he hadn't been wrong, after all. A shiver crept along his spine. 

"He was a burglar," Bruce explained. "He broke into my Gotham house, before my alarm system was mounted." 

Lex breathed again. But why was Bruce telling him this? 

"I was there for my charity ball. I surprised him trying to force the safe," Bruce kept on. "I had my gun. I murdered him." 

"It wasn't your fault," Lex reassured him. "He got in, and you had to defend yourself." 

"I'm not sure I was in danger. I just saw him and fired. I couldn't help it," Bruce stated, dryly. 

"Well, the fear, the surprise..." Lex stuttered. 

"I wasn't scared. I was very calm, to tell the truth. I think I haven't been that calm in all my life. I knew perfectly well what to do and did it. He was committing a crime, and I had to stop him." Bruce sounded convinced in his reasoning. 

What was he looking for? A pat on his back? Lex was glad he hadn't told him the truth about his scarred lip. He had sensed something strange in him, and now he knew what it was. He blamed it on Bruce's parents' murder. It must have altered his sense of justice. It must have confused his sense of good and evil. 

"I pondered long on the significance of that event. I think it could be the aim of my life." 

"Executing people?" Lex asked, irony mixed with bewilderment. 

"Fighting crime," corrected Bruce, impassively. 

Lex chuckled nervously. It would have been funny, if it weren't so crazy. "In a few weeks you'll be of age and head of Wayne Enterprises." 

"I could do both things." 

His ingenuity made him almost laugh. "An entrepreneur-detective. Interesting. And original." 

Bruce kept ignoring the irony. "I just wanted you to know. You're the only one I've told. Except for Alfred, of course." 

Lex scowled. Alfred? "Of course," he said, in a condescending tone. Then he thought he understood. "Obviously, he was in the house when you... when he... 

"Yes, Alfred was there. But I would have told him anyway. He's like a father to me." 

A butler. Like a father. He had noticed Bruce didn't treat him formally, but... Well, thinking it over, Lex wasn't sure having Lionel as a father was preferable to that. 

"And the police?" 

"They wouldn't have understood. The burglar had a knife. I told them he was attacking me. They believed me." 

Lex smirked. "Of course, you're Bruce Wayne, Crown Prince of Gotham." A brief pause, then he observed: "There was nothing of this in the newspapers. You bought yourself out of it." 

"It wasn't necessary. The police saw to it. It's as if it never happened. I know the right people. Did you research me?" 

"What is the Internet for?" Lex said, flippantly. 

"I don't want to have secrets with you," Bruce said. "And you can tell me whatever you want." 

So this was it, then? Again, he had to hold back a smile in the face of Bruce's ingenuity. He had just admitted to being unpredictable and now he was asking Lex to trust him. Lex wouldn't have done it anyway. Bruce was close enough. Maybe even too much so. Lex couldn't allow him to get closer. He couldn't allow anyone to know him, to see his real nature. Because, if they discovered what he had done, what he had let that man do... they would realize he was disgusting, and filthy and abnormal. More different than was already evident. They would have hated him, despised him as his father did. They wouldn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. 

Bruce was his only friend. He didn't want to lose him. Bruce's secret was nothing compared to his own. Bruce was clearly traumatized. He wasn't responsible for what he had done. 

"Quid pro quo?" he joked, determined to take control of the conversation and distract him. "What's this? _The Silence of the Lambs_?" 

"What?" 

"Sorry, I forgot. You don't like cinema. Well, now that I know your secret, I guess you'll be forced to kill me, if I don't reciprocate." 

Bruce frowned. 

"Just kidding," Lex assured him. 

"Lex, we never talk seriously." 

"You never struck me as the talkative type." 

"You know what I mean!" Bruce blurted out, sounding exasperated. 

"Okay, quid pro quo," Lex said bluntly. "What do you want to know? What I'd like to do when I grow up?" he asked, pointedly misunderstanding his request. 

"Well, it could be a beginning." 

"The answer is that it doesn't matter, because our future is planned out. I..." I won't be free as long as my father lives, he was about to say, but trailed off. Suddenly he saw the headlines in his mind's eye: JET SET SCANDAL. BILLIONAIRE MURDERED. TEENAGED SON AND YOUNG LOVER ARRESTED. He saw himself in jail and tried live broadcast. Oh, that would be just great. "You know that," he corrected himself. 

"I know what you mean, but you can't just give up your dreams like that." 

Dreams? Can he laugh now? 

"There must be something you want." 

Yes, I want to die, he thought, but didn't say it aloud. He had no control over his present, let alone his future. He couldn't even imagine it. But he could have control over his death. Could choose the place, the moment, the way. There was something appealing in the tranquillity of death. Certainly, it would have been less painful than living. He often launched himself into elaborate fantasies about his demise and funeral. He had considered blades, carbon monoxide, caustic soda, the old weapons his father collected. And when he was dead, Lionel would regret what he had done to him. Lex was sure he had seen tears shimmer in his eyes, at his mother's funeral. Perhaps, he would shed a tear for him too. Or maybe he would not, but at least Lex would finally rest in peace. 

He hated himself for not having done it yet. He was a coward. And he was simply terrified at the prospect of surviving to face the shame, above all his father's contempt for having disgraced the family name with an attempted suicide. 

"If you want me to, I can be your Q, James." He laughed, with all the lightness he could muster. 

Bruce looked at him, deadpan. 

"Bond, James Bond," Lex explained. 

"Yes, I've heard of him." 

Lex exhaled loudly. "I was beginning to think you were utterly hopeless... Damn it, now that I think about it, you aren't going to need a Q to design a Brucemobile or a Waynecopter. You can do it by yourself. Probably better. Uhm. What's left? Moneypenny?" Lex let out a mock sigh. "Well, I'll be your Moneypenny." 

Bruce laughed outright, though briefly. 

It was the first time Lex had ever heard him laugh so openly. And it was because of him. He had done it. Lex felt proud. 

"By the way, I'm sure you'll appreciate my birthday present. It's a real spy gadget, this time. Bought on spyworld.com." 

"What is it?" Bruce asked, curious. 

Lex congratulated himself on having managed to divert Bruce's attention. "I won't tell you. You'll have to torture me," he smiled impishly. 

Bruce blushed a little. A big boy like him. Lex congratulated himself on that, too. 

"Would you like to continue in my room?" he asked. 

Bruce blinked. 

Lex picked up his books and stood up. "C'mon." 

Bruce complied and followed him out of the tree's shadow, towards the school's door. Lex restrained from smiling smugly. He would make Bruce forget his questions and worries. He would show him what he could do. Anything to keep him, to not slide back again into the dark pit of loneliness. 

Carl the janitor gave them a knowing smile, as they entered the corridor. Did he suspect something? It didn't matter. Just another bribe. 

Once in his room, he closed the door and pushed Bruce onto the bed. He straddled him, starting to unbutton Bruce's shirt. _This is the only thing you're good for, little girl_. He kissed and sucked a trail from Bruce's neck down to his ribs. He teased his nipples and smiled when he heard him moan. He felt the rush of excitement through Bruce's body. 

Good. It worked. _Go on like this_. If Bruce loved it, he'd want more. If he wanted more, he'd need him. If he needed him, he wouldn't leave him. He licked his way down his chest. And suddenly froze up when Bruce's hand sneaked under his sweater. He felt the familiar knot in his stomach. He willed his muscles to relax. Proceeded to roll his tongue over the other boy's stomach, trailing wet spirals, delving into his navel. Reached for Bruce's pants, rubbed his hand across the tightness of his crotch. Concentrated on it. He was keeping control. He was in command. He had started this. _It's your fault_. _You wanted this_. 

Bruce grabbed him by the arms. Lex flinched in his grip. 

"L-Lex, please, let me do something for you." 

Lex felt the knot tighten. Panic surged through him. _No, not today_. _Not now_. He was unprepared. The effect of last night's pills had already faded away and he didn't trust his mind anymore. He wasn't calm enough, wasn't anaesthetized enough. 

Bruce dragged him up, so that their faces were level. Lex tensed, gasping for air, then frantically struggled to rip away from the iron grasp, giving a throaty groan of dismay that sounded childish, almost alien to his own ears. As though galvanized or aroused by his resistance, Bruce pushed ahead with even more vehemence. He turned over, rolling Lex onto his back, blocking him with his weight. Lex squirmed, writhed, gritted his teeth, turned his head away. Bruce let go of his arms to capture his face with both hands, turn it towards him. 

And suddenly his mouth was on his, his tongue probing, licking, pushing against tightly pressed lips, forcing them open. A sense of defeat washed over Lex, depriving him of all energy. He went boneless beneath Bruce, shut his eyes, let him invade his mouth, the bottom of his stomach dropping out with fear. 

There. His first kiss. A rape. What was new? _This is what you deserve_. He didn't even know why a kiss should seem that intimate and precious, especially to one whose mouth had been savagely violated so many times. Yet, he felt sullied. Felt that even that last vestige of innocence was lost forever. 

He half returned the kiss, mechanically, as he thought it was required. 

And felt relieved. Nothing. Even without pills. He didn't feel. Couldn't. Didn't want to feel. Because feeling was a luxury he couldn't allow himself. 

Suddenly, Bruce pulled away, giving out a frustrated moan, letting his head fall down, face buried into the pillow. 

Lex didn't move, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, tongue absently probing the inside of his mouth, teeth slowly biting it, until Bruce rolled again onto his back, drawing him along, a hand on his bare nape, gently pressing Lex's forehead against his shoulder. 

"God, Lex. Sorry. Please, don't hate me. I don't know what came over me. It's just... I want you." 

Lex blinked. Turned to him. 

"You can have me," Lex assured him, distress and anxiety seeping away at once. This he could do. This he was used to. This he was even good at. "I haven't got the lube, but we can use the liquid soap. Or you can do without, if you wish. I can bear it." Mercifully, his pain threshold was becoming higher and higher. 

Bruce winced, as he closed and slowly opened his eyes again. He held Lex tighter, palm still cupping the back of his smooth head. 

"No," he whispered hoarsely. "I want _you_ , Lex. I'm not talking about your body. I want your trust. I want to know what you think, what you feel... Please, believe me. I'd never hurt you. Never. I... I think... I love you," he choked out, sounding shocked at his own words. 

For some seconds Lex's mind went blank. He wanted this, didn't he? He had been seeking this. But what he was expected to do, now? What he was supposed to say? His brain quickly processed the data and prompted him with an adequate response. 

"I love you too," he said. This must have been what Bruce wanted him to say. He kept still, waiting for a reaction. 

"Here," Bruce said, closing his eyes. "Let's stay like this for a moment." 

Lex complied, allowing himself to be cradled quietly in the older boy's arms. After a while, he saw Bruce's left hand move down, heard the sound of Bruce's pants being unzipped. Automatically, he reached down. Without even opening his eyes, Bruce batted his hand away. 

"Cool it, Lex. Just relax. I'll take care of it." And so he did. 

Lex was confused. First, Bruce forced a kiss on him, then turned him down and did it all by himself. A part of him felt uneasy, unnecessary and vulnerable, as he always did during those "just lie and relax" sessions. He still couldn't believe he had allowed Bruce that close to him. At first he had even thought he would prefer Bruce had fucked him and be done with it. But another part, which he had discovered recently, enjoyed the novelty of not having to work hard, not having to suffer and get hurt and feel bad in order to gain a bit of attention. So, he snuggled at Bruce's side, fingers curled tight around the fabric of his friend's loosened black shirt. Almost immediately, he felt him tense. Heard him let out a long, trembling sigh. 

A little later, Bruce caressed the back of his head, pressed a kiss on his forehead. 

Lex scrutinized Bruce's face. He looked content. 

After some minutes, Lex realized his friend had drifted off, and couldn't help but smile. He didn't feel the urge to chase him out of his bed anymore. He felt good. Felt protected and cared about. He would have liked to stay like this forever. Block the entire world out. Just the two of them and that peaceful, warming sensation. It would even be better than death, if only it weren't destined to end. But perhaps he could pretend, for a while. He closed his eyes. Just to rest them. To better revel in that comforting absence of loneliness. A moment later, without the aid of pills, he fell asleep. 

* * *

His eyes shot open and fear rushed through him, just few seconds before feeling the blow across his mouth. Before finding himself dragged out of the bed and thrown onto the floor. 

"Fag! Slut! You disgust me!" His father's voice penetrating his senses, jarring him into full consciousness. 

No time to regain his balance. A shower of blows and kicks raining on him. He curled up into a tight ball, arms bent around his head, not even trying to respond to the assault. And all he could think in that moment was, absurdly: "I locked the door. I'm sure I locked the door." 

"D-Dad!" he barely managed. 

A stunned cry. The beating stopped suddenly. The dull sound of something hitting the floor. Lex blinked, dazed. Propped himself up on his hands. Looked around. And his heart missed a beat. Bruce standing protectively close to him, his body tense, his hands curled so tightly that his knuckles were stretched white, a menacing glare fixed on the man lying sprawled on the floor, coat crumpled, hair ruffled, a surprised expression on his face. 

"How dare you?" Lionel exclaimed, recovering quickly. 

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Bruce commanded. 

"Bruce!" Lex called, frightened. 

Bruce didn't even look at him. 

Lionel stumbled to his feet, tidying himself up. A sarcastic smile formed on his lips. 

"And if I don't? What are you going to do?" 

"I'm not bluffing: go away." 

"Go away?" Lionel laughed. "This is my son's room. My _underage_ son. I'm responsible for him. I have every right to be here, to be concerned about his welfare. And you? What right have you to stay here, doing with him whatever you want? I could get you expelled. I could even get you arrested. How long has this been going on?" 

This was a bluff. He couldn't do that. It was time for Lex the Rebel to raise his head. "We didn't do anything, dad," he said, with a defiant look and all the firmness he could muster. "And he's under-aged too, and as rich as you are, perhaps even more." 

Not at all impressed, his father smiled, dismissively. "Don't start playing arrogant, son. You're in no position for that. Can't I get him arrested for seducing my poor innocent child? Don't worry. I'm resourceful." He turned to Bruce. "I can get you arrested for something else. I can ruin you or destroy your company. I can even do it all at once." 

Lex felt his resolution falter, while fear began to close in on him. Felt the mask slipping off his face. 

"I won't repeat it again," Bruce stated, in a low voice. "Go away and leave us alone." 

"Your parents' death must have driven you insane, my poor boy. Who do you think you are? You may be rich, but you're just that: a boy. And he isn't worth your while, believe me. Open your eyes. What did he tell you? What do you think he is, a damsel in danger? You're wrong. You think you are his one and only? Wrong again. It's natural like breathing, to him. It's his way of drawing attention. He can't say no. When he was thirteen I had to move him to another school and cover up the scandal because he had managed to sleep with his riding trainer. Thirteen! Just imagine what happened next." 

"You're lying!" Bruce raged. But he didn't sound that sure. 

Lex felt his insides churn. He couldn't believe this. Couldn't believe his father was telling Bruce these things. 

"Ask him. Although, since Lex is the pathological liar here, I fear you can't trust anything coming out of his mouth." 

Bruce turned to Lex, looked him square in the face, as if he were trying to read the truth in his eyes. 

Lex would have liked to explain, justify himself, but he was stunned silent by shame and disbelief. There, he should have said. See? The riding trainer. The crop. And don't forget Sparta. What a witty joke. His father didn't leave anything to chance. Yes, he should have said, everything he's said is true. His mother was just dead, his nanny had abandoned him, his father was never at home, and even when he was, he made Lex wish he weren't. Jim was kind to him. He talked to him. After the lessons, he bought him ice-creams and chips, Warrior Angel comics and books, sometimes he took him to the cinema. He was gentler with him than to the other pupils. He made him feel special. No one had ever made him feel like that before, except for the two women who had left him. And when Jim had asked, he had let him do those things. Yes, he had let him do whatever he wanted. He couldn't say no, because he was simply terrified at the prospect that Jim could turn his back on him. And because he had began to think that he had to pay to be loved, and that his body could be a fair exchange. 

It wasn't all Jim's fault. He was responsible too. He had liked some of those things, and there was clearly something wrong in him, if even his dad felt the urge to fuck him. A part of him knew he was doing dirty things and that he should have been ashamed, and he was, he always felt guilty and sick afterwards. But another part told him that they couldn't be so bad if his father did them to him, taught them to him. So, he had made himself available to Jim twice a week, after every lesson, and often on Sunday, when most boys went home, until another teacher, the one Jim dated officially, had found them in the stable and rushed to the principal. Jim had been fired, and Lionel had Lex moved to another school. 

Jim was like a father to him. In every sense. Except he didn't beat him; instead, he listened to him. And Lex had lost him and gained a broken arm and two broken ribs. He had never seen Lionel that furious. He had thought he would kill him. Hoped he would kill him. Instead Lex had survived and discovered, in the hospital, the joys of morphine. 

He would have liked to explain all this to Bruce, but it was too long; he tried, but couldn't open his mouth, as if his lips were stuck together. A wave of nausea welled up in him, as a muscle twitched in Bruce's face, and he stared at him with an expression Lex couldn't read. 

Disgust? It had to be disgust. 

"Yeah," Lionel said, smugly. "Don't think he's yours, just because he has given his ass to you. He's sick. Uses it like a landing strip." 

No, this wasn't true. This was a fucking lie. _Why can't you speak_? _Why can't you open your damned mouth_? Jim had been the only one. Lex hadn't had anybody else before or after him. Except for... Except... Nausea. Again. Hitting him in waves. Hard. 

Lionel chuckled, and Lex saw Bruce stiffen more than he already had. His face had gone pale, his eyes darker with fury. In horror, Lex saw him turn and lift his fist, ready to strike. 

"Bruce, don't!" he exclaimed, jumping up and rushing towards him. 

Bruce's elbow hit him on the face. He staggered, while Bruce turned towards him, remorse etched into his beautiful features. Lex's eyes watered with pain. He covered his nose with his hand. Felt the warm viscosity of blood. Bruce reached out, helpfully. 

"Lex, I... 

Lex snapped his head up. Saw Bruce's guilt-filled face, and his father's satisfied smile, behind him. _I could get you expelled_. _I could even get you arrested_. 

"Bruce, go," he murmured. 

"What?" 

"You heard me: leave us alone." 

"No, I won't let... 

"Are you deaf?!" Lex yelled. "Leave me alone, you maniac! I don't want to see you again!" 

Bruce stood still like a statue, pale, mute, wide-eyed. 

"Did you hear me? Go away!" Lex insisted. 

Sickly, a part of him even relished the sensation of destroying the only meaningful thing he had, like a kid would enjoy smashing the sand castle he himself had built on the beach. _You wanted this_. No more questions, no more secrets, no more lies. Not with him. _It's what you deserve_. 

The other part of him was crumbling before the combination of shock and disbelief filling Bruce's face. Painfully, desperately, he saw him harden his jaw and rush past Lionel, out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

Lex blinked, dumbfounded, heart pounding loudly in his ears. 

"Well done, son," Lionel commended. 

This made him focus. He quickly mastered his emotions. Turned to his father, his face a mask of cool hatred and contempt. For him. For himself. He licked the blood off his lips. 

"Now you will be satisfied. Are you jealous, daddy dearest? That nasty kid wanted to play with your toy without asking permission?" 

Lex shook his head, slowly, clucking his tongue. 

Lionel inched closer. He was smiling, but his son recognized the threat in his eyes. Lex didn't flinch. Instead, he waited, head up. He had learnt that tears, pleas and any other attempt to escape punishment were only useful in irking Lionel even more. 

His father struck him hard across the face. Lex gasped but didn't falter. 

"Don't dare to talk to me like that again. Save these scenes for someone who doesn't know you, girlie." 

Lex saw another blow coming. This one hit him on the side of his neck, making him fall on his right hip. Before he could prop himself up, a kick thudded into his stomach, sending him sprawling on the parquet floor. He curled up, gasping, bracing himself. 

"And this is for having defied me before your sweetheart. Now get up and gather your things." 

"Wha... What?" Lex managed, breathing through the pain. 

His father pulled out an embroidered white handkerchief, using it to wipe the blood off his hand. 

"You have disgraced me enough in this school. You're moving. I've already talked to the principal." 

Lex felt his heart sink, along with all his practiced cockiness. He immediately forgot all his father's lessons and staggered to his feet, ready to do without his dignity too. 

"No, dad. Please," he begged, in a soft voice. "I have the mid-term exams. I've studied so hard." And Bruce was coming of age and leaving the school at the end of the school year. And he would never have a chance to see him again, talk to him, explain. 

"Stop whining, girlie. Day after day, you look more and more like an Athenian, a spineless, highbrow pervert. Did you know that the elders of Sparta inspected the newborn infants and ordered the weak and unhealthy ones to be carried to a chasm and left to die?" 

"Of course, dad," Lex hissed, through thinly pressed lips. "You've been repeating it since I was a child." 

Lionel ignored him. "The children who were allowed to live were removed from their parents' control at the age of seven," he ranted. "They slept in public dormitories upon hard beds, not among designer sheets. They ate black broth and other coarse food, not the specialities of French cuisine. They wore the simplest and scantiest clothes, not Calvin Klein shirts and Armani trousers. And it was Sparta, at the end, that wrested political supremacy from Athens, in spite of its opponent's beautiful and useless temples and statues and literature and music and philosophy. Do you see my point, son?" 

The corner of Lex's mouth turned up, bitterly. "Sure. And I'm sorry you weren't lucky enough to live during that very appealing historical time period. I wonder why you didn't carry me to a chasm yourself, when it was clear I was neither healthy nor strong enough to become your worthy heir." 

"Your mother wouldn't let me," Lionel retorted, cruelly. "And now pack, little girl. We have already wasted too much time. The limo is waiting outside. And tomorrow at 11.00 you've got to catch a plane." 

"A pl..." 

"I've enrolled you in an English boarding-school, son. Perhaps they will teach you some discipline." 

To England! So far away from his only friend. Lex felt despair closing in on him again. "No, dad. Please. You heard what I told him. I won't see him again. I promise, dad. Let me at least finish the school year." 

Out of the blue, Lionel backhanded him. Grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into the bathroom. Dumbfounded, Lex barely put up resistance. Watched absently, while his father cupped his hand under the liquid soap dispenser. And a moment later Lionel was rubbing his face hard, forcing the soap between his lips, into his mouth, down his throat. Lex twisted in his grip, struggling to shake his head, trying to bite his father's hand. Lionel only tightened the grip on his nape, digging into his flesh, pushing him down deeper onto his fingers, drawing them back, plunging them all the way into the depths of Lex's throat again. Lex gagged. And gagged. And gagged. 

"Did you take me for a fool?" Lionel roared. "I don't believe a word coming out of this dirty mouth of yours. What have you done, girlie? You took him in, didn't you? How deeply? How deeply, you little pervert? I didn't bring up a son to see him become a fag!" 

Lex gurgled and dribbled, and retched again. 

Apparently satisfied, his father let go of him, turned the tap on, washed and dried his hands, smoothed his jacket. 

"Clean yourself. And pack just the essential things," he instructed, in a business-like tone. "We'll have the rest dispatched. I'll wait for you in the corridor." 

Lex leaned against the sink and held himself up on his trembling arms for a while. Then, pulled himself together. Spat out the soap. Rinsed his mouth. Washed his face. Slowly. When he was finished, he opened the medicine cabinet and gathered the bottles. For a moment, he stared at them, eyes slightly out of focus. Diazepam, ketazolam, clordemetildiazepam. He counted the pills. Too few. And not strong enough, without alcohol or other drugs. Not certain enough. Not quick enough. Especially when he was waiting outside, probably already on the brink of losing his patience. Lex took three pills, just to calm himself... four, to be sure, since he had the impression he was becoming tolerant to benzodiazepines. 

He stuffed the bottles in a case, stepped out of the bathroom and mechanically dug out his travel bag. Gathered some clothes and some books, haphazardly, took his papers, headed for the door. He stopped in his tracks. Went to the nightstand and opened the drawer, pulled out the original version of _La Divina Commedia_ Bruce had given him as a Christmas present. 

He joined his father in the corridor. Lionel had a smug smile on his face. While they were heading to the school door, Lex looked around inconspicuously, in the hope of seeing Bruce one last time. He would smile at him, let him know he didn't hate him, didn't really mean what he had said. Bruce was nowhere to be seen. That idiot had taken his words literally. Instead, Lex met Carl's mean gaze. The janitor sat in the entrance hall, behind his desk, satisfaction spread across his fox-like features. 

Realization crept into Lex's mind at once. It all made perfect sense, now. Carl was his father's informer. And he hadn't complained that much about his hush money disappearing, because he had already planned to sell him to Lionel. It was he who had given his father the key to his room. 

Lex moved towards him. "You moronic bastard," he spat out, ignoring, or rather perfectly aware of, the casual audience of teachers and students. "I hope he paid you well, because you're losing a good customer. Ah, by the way: your beer sucks." 

Carl stood with mouth agape, while an uneasy silence fell on the room. He quickly recovered, putting on an outraged, surprised, and innocent expression. 

Lionel grasped Lex's arm and pulled him outside. Pushed him into the limo and climbed in behind him. While they pulled away, his father gave a hearty laugh. 

"Son, sometimes you do behave like a Luthor." 

* * *

He fell asleep in the car, only to wake up in his room in the Metropolis penthouse. When he glanced at the watch, still dazed, he vaguely realized the benzodiazepines had knocked him out for almost 24 hours. Flashes of his father calling his name, roaring insults and slapping him hard in the face surfaced into his groggy mind. They could have been a dream. Too bad they looked that much like reality. He swallowed, when another, more alarming thought washed over him. He had missed the plane. His father must have been furious. That could be the reason why he repeated "wake up, little bastard" that many times while he was slapping his face. But now he might have had the time to cool down. Might have left for a business trip. Perhaps it had been all for the good. He wouldn't go to England, after all. Lex was afraid to hope, but the alternative sickened him. He shrugged it off. 

He sat up, pulled the blanket off, crawled out of the bed and into the shower. It wasn't enough to fully wrench him from the drug-induced torpor. He needed something to clear his mind. 

He considered the supply of amphetamines he sometimes used to counteract the long-lasting effects of the sedatives, especially when he had a difficult exam to face. He immediately turned down the idea. He needed to know if his father was around, before taking any initiative. Besides, he couldn't waste them. If he was really going abroad, he would need time to find another supplier. Perhaps an espresso, or maybe two or three, would do instead. 

He met Thomas on his way to the kitchen. The housekeeper smiled at him. 

"Welcome home, Lex," he told him. 

Lex perceived genuine kindness in his voice, and felt a lump in his throat. 

"Thank you," he murmured. "Where's my father?" 

"At a business meeting. He's expected to be home for dinner." 

Lex felt his insides churn. Half an hour. One hour at the latest. To prepare himself. To become more lucid. Or else to numb his mind. 

"Is... he upset?" he asked. 

Thomas shuffled over, a sympathetic expression on his face. "He wants you to wait for him in his office," he informed him, sounding uncomfortable. 

Lex's mouth went dry. "Thank you," he rasped. 

His father was furious. His father would punish him. His father would send him off to England. 

He felt Thomas's sorrowful eyes on his back while he edged away. Another fuzzy image from his long sleep. Thomas's humble voice: "Please, Mr. Luthor. It's no use for you to keep hitting the boy. He isn't going to wake up. Clearly, he must have taken something." Defended by a servant. Pitied by a servant. It was more than humiliating. It was pathetic. He felt anguish overcome the residual effects of the pills. Number. Decidedly, he had to achieve total numbness. He shouldn't have taken that shower. 

He went back to his room, found his travel bag, rummaged into it, pulled out the medicine case. He took two pills, then headed for his father's office. Sank into the leather chair in front of Lionel's desk. Waited. Brooded. 

To England. To another school, where he'd have to start all over again. Settle in. Take his bearings. Find his feet. Win the teachers' approval. Learn the class schedules, the hierarchy of popularity. Get used to the new books. To the new bullies who certainly would beat him, rob him, jeer at him, make him the odd one out. It all seemed even more terrifying than before. He knew it. He shouldn't have taken to Bruce. Shouldn't have let him get that close. Shouldn't have deluded himself into believing that his life could be different, even for a while. Bruce had weakened him. 

Lex cast a glance at the pendulum-clock. Twenty minutes, forty at the most, if the meeting didn't last long. 

He let his eyes wander over the familiar objects on his father's desk. The laptop, the leather-bound agenda, the golden fountain-pens, the phone, the businessman of the year plaque, the cold, hard glass paper-weight that more than once he had felt painfully pressing into the soft skin of his belly, while he was bent over, waiting for his father to be done with him. That was Lionel's favorite place for haranguing and fucking. Well, fucking him. He didn't remember any of the gorgeous women his father bedded and showed off ever entering or exiting his office. He could say it was their very special love nest. Lex felt his lips curl in a bitter, sarcastic grimace. 

He remembered himself. Sitting before that desk. Waiting. Innumerable times. 

Looked at the pendulum-clock. 

Replayed in his mind the scene at the school. Saw Bruce's hurt, shocked face. Heard the sound of the door as it slammed behind him. 

Looked at the pendulum-clock. 

His mouth was dry. Everything in him was dry. Tainted. Dead. 

He stood up and went to the cocktail table. Poured a scotch. Downed it in a swallow. Poured and drained another glass. Another. And another. And another. Finished off the decanter. Passed on to... what was that? Whiskey. Lex drank directly from the bottle. Poured the whiskey down his burning throat. Coughed. 

Looked at the pendulum-clock. 

The hands moved faster. Lex felt the back of his neck go cold, while a drunken, hysterical laughter welled up inside him. He let it out. He lurched. Collapsed to the floor. 

Through the haze surrounding his mind, saw the door handle move downward. 

Thank God, he blacked out. 


End file.
